Last Minute Crisis
by Quillusion
Summary: Snape's past could jeopardize everything the Order has worked for when Voldemort commissions a particular potion- and the reason takes Hermione by surprise. Complete!
1. Default Chapter

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Last Minute Crisis

By Quillusion

I started writing this in December of '02 and hinted at posting it for a while... now I'll start posting it with the thought that this will encourage me to finish it! It won't be a very long piece, probably only a handful of chapters. But what the heck. Enjoy, and if you do, please let me know! 

Anti-Litigation Charm: JKR would _never_- but I would, strictly on a not-for-profit basis, of course. Which is not to say that neither Severus nor Hermione will profit... and, dare I hope, dear reader, that you will too?

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Chapter 1

Albus Dumbledore and Hermione Granger were absorbed in their chess match. It was going fairly quickly- after all, the former Head Girl was known more for her affinity for books than the chessboard, and she was far from a formidable opponent for Albus's 125 years of practice. 

Hermione Granger sat back in the winged armchair and sighed with defeat. 

"I think this is about to be another conceded match," she confessed as the white bishop took her knight. "I was never any good at this game. This is more Ron's department."

The Headmaster's blue eyes twinkled in the firelight. 

"Perhaps," he said slowly as he studied the board, although it was no longer his turn. "But skill at chess was not what we needed when we asked for you, Miss Granger. As you well know." 

She nodded, worrying her lower lip with her teeth as she considered her next move. She decided to make the Headmaster wait- all of the moves left to her were disasters anyway- and turned her gaze to him instead. 

"Do you honestly think we'll find a way to remove the Dark Mark with a potion? Even knowing that it was burned on with other spells?"

"I do," replied the Headmaster calmly as he adjusted his spectacles on his nose. "There are several instances in which a potion is the only way to undo an incantation- and I believe that this is very likely to be one of them."

Hermione nodded in understanding. "I hope so," she said tiredly. "This process is rather exacting. But once this stage of the preparation is complete, we will be able to divide the base into batches and test additives one at a time. At least that will feel like progress."

Albus smiled at her. "You were always patient," he said kindly. "Far more so than Severus- although he can show great patience for potions, if not for people. And whether or not he's said it, I know that he is grateful for your assistance. He's never let anyone- and I mean anyone, my dear, including myself- use the cauldrons and scales he's lent to you. I think he'd loan out his toothbrush before loaning those."

Hermione chuckled; most of the student body would be inclined to doubt that the Potions master even owned a toothbrush. Hermione, on the other hand, had actually seen said toothbrush firsthand during the intense work they'd done together of late, and knew it existed. And needed replacing, she thought idly. At least he used it.

Their progress over the last four months had been slow, but noticeable. She had been specially assigned to Hogwarts by the Ministry of Magic at Albus's request, removed from what had been a rather dull project on slander-proof ink for the Daily Prophet and sent to consider ways to remove the Dark Mark. Specifically, to remove it from Severus Snape. 

She watched her chess pieces slowly dwindle in number, well aware that Albus was toying with her before moving in for the kill. Might as well; there was another ten minutes before the potion would be ready to pull from the fire, and little else to do with the time. She turned her mind from the black of the chess pieces and settled instead on another figure in black- her former Potions master.

He had changed little, if at all, from her school days; he was as irritable and short-tempered as ever, perhaps even more so now that the war with Voldemort was escalating and his need to rid himself of the Mark grew ever more urgent with each passing day. But where he had treated Hermione Granger the student with disdain and something very like loathing, he treated Hermione Granger the adult with a distant sort of politeness that, if cool, was nonetheless welcome. And he no longer insulted her intelligence. That was even more welcome. After the intellectually stimulating discussions they'd had, the things they'd come up with together, tested together, she had begun to see the side of him she was never permitted to see when she was still a child- before she'd become a part of the world in which he was not just a teacher, but a man. A human being, with flaws and fears and risks and peril, and graceful hands that she'd never before noticed. 

The chessboard before her was mostly covered with white pieces. The black ones lay in a neat row at the Headmaster's elbow. The black king turned to stare up at her, and with a dramatic flourish, drew his sword and pressed it to the breastplate of his armor with a meaningful look. The point- no pun intended- was not lost upon her.

"Yes, yes, I know. You might as well," she gritted out irritably.

The king suddenly gave her a stricken look, dropped his sword, clutched his chest, and keeled slowly over onto the chessboard. The queen squealed with fright, but could not leave her space. She glared up at Hermione and shook her fist. 

Horrified, Hermione looked up at Albus. She had no idea if one could even do cardiopulmonary resuscitation on a chesspiece. 

"I didn't mean for him to die, Albus! Can you tell a chesspiece to die, and have it really die?" 

The Headmaster was leaning over the pieces with a frown, his wand extended to prod the king gently. 

"Nice try, but you're not getting out of your predicament _that_ easily. This is not a nice thing to do to someone who doesn't know any better," he told it in a no-nonsense tone. "Get up now." 

The king made no move.

"Now, sir, before I offer to let Professor Sprout play you for another match."

The chess piece sprang up with renewed vitality, his expression sour as he stared up at his owner. After all, these were Albus's pieces. 

"Much better. Now apologize. Miss Granger is doing her best; it isn't her fault that I am unable to play chess without trying to win."

Clearly, the black king was given to sulks. He crossed his arms over his chest and stomped back to his square, and Hermione could have sworn she could see steam leaking from beneath his helm. He did not apologize to her, but he did pick his sword back up and turn to face the field again. 

The Headmaster did seem to find his sense of mercy after that. There were only a few moves made before he gleefully told her, "Checkmate." 

"Finally," Hermione muttered under her breath. "It took you long enough," she told Albus, tipping her king over to lie on the chessboard. The little figure scowled up at her, and she stuck her tongue out at him. 

"Get over it," she told it. "He beat me with you last time. It isn't as if it's your fault, you know." 

The black king struggled to his feet again, shrugged wearily at her in acknowledgement, and trooped over to shake hands with the white king. 

Hermione stood and stretched, moved lazily over to the window to stare out at the frost-whitened grounds. For all the times she'd been in this dungeon workroom since returning to Hogwarts to help work on this project, she'd never grown used to the idea that the dungeon had windows. Snape's classroom had a window, of course, high up and small, but this was a beautiful window with a lovely view. Snape's office had a double-arched Romanesque window that looked out on the grounds, but this was different. This room, one of the smaller ones down the hall from his office and regular laboratory, was usually used for separate research projects like this one. It had one of the ancient deep-set windows that peppered the castle, with a three-foot-deep sill and lovely leaded glass. She leaned into the recess around the window, nearly pressing her nose to the glass, enjoying the snug feeling of security that came from being in such a small, hidden space.

The moon was bright, though not full, and she imagined that she could see each blade of grass outlined in its own shadow. Funny, how she noticed the shadow as much as- if not more than- the thing that cast it. As if the shadow were somehow what hid the truth of what a thing was- despite its easily manipulated form, its tendency to distort when cast over other objects. It was the things that were _not_ said, _not_ defined, that made all the difference. 

Snape was that way, she thought to herself slowly. There were so many things he did not say, but they were true nonetheless. And that was what intrigued her about him. Never, in all her years as a student, had she looked beyond the image he projected, to what might actually be there. He hadn't shown her that, not yet- but he'd stopped pushing her away, stopped forcing her to remember who he wanted her to think he was. 

She wanted to think that meant he didn't hate her, after all. That maybe he, too, had accepted that she was not defined by the role she'd played as his student here. She just didn't know why it mattered to her.

When the door burst open, startling her out of her reverie, she instinctively shrank back into the cover of the deep windowsill. Cautiously glancing out of her hiding place, she fixed alarmed eyes on the figure of the Potions master, standing still in the dark tide of robes that swirled about his legs, testament to the speed with which he had moved.

"We have a problem," he said flatly. "A big one." 

Malfoy's communiques were never particularly welcome, but this latest one had at least seemed innocuous enough. The Dark Lord had wanted a potion prepared for the Death Eater gathering he was planning for that night. As far as Severus was concerned, it had actually been nice to have advance warning of a summons; it was damned inconvenient to have the Dark Mark go off in the middle of whatever he was doing. Which, of course, was why Voldemort had designed it that way. To remind everyone who followed him just how much he controlled them. 

All the more reason to get rid of the damn thing. If this one potion took him away from working on their main project, then at least Hermione and Albus could continue working without him. He had spent the afternoon obediently concocting the base of Voldemort's commission, after discussing the matter with Albus; the Headmaster and Hermione had taken over responsibility for their own partially completed base. Once it was done, they could test some of the possibilities. But first, he had to survive the Death Eater gathering tonight.

Which led him back again to his problem. 

Severus still held the parchment from Malfoy in his fist. It was crumpled, but a soft charm re-smoothed it so that he could hand it to the Headmaster, who had leapt up in startlement at his entrance. 

"Problem, Severus?" he asked in his calm way; this was how he reacted to everything, no matter how grave. It always inspired both admiration and exasperation in the Potions master. Just once, he wanted to hear Albus Dumbledore swear aloud at the inconvenience of it all, at the perverse nature of the universe that caused it to order events as it usually did. 

"Yes, Albus," he ground out as politely as he could, given the nature of his difficulty. "A rather large one. You know that Voldemort wants the Eye of Sarudai made for him."

"So you had said," said Albus neutrally. The Eye of Sarudai was an obscure mind-augmenting potion which had been invented by a wizard emperor of Japan, and used to assimilate information from his generals, his spies, and his political advisors to concoct military strategy and foreign policy, such as it was in those days. It was rather effective, but in addition to requiring great skill with brewing to make, it also required one to possess a network of reliable information sources who would be willing to participate. The potion ingredient list included a drop of blood from each person who would be contributing information to the big picture in the potion user's mind. Voldemort, naturally, already had just such a network as the potion required. Albus and Severus had agreed before he had started brewing that the Dark Lord was likely planning on making a move soon, and was testing the wind to see what direction would be most favorable for success. While he'd never used this particular potion before, he had often employed similar strategy in the past. Such as right before he'd killed Lily and James Potter. And right before he'd faced Harry after the Triwizard Tournament. 

Severus thrust the ingredient list toward the Headmaster. "Review the other ingredients, and see if you can find the problem I've discovered," he said, and Albus's brow furrowed as he studied the parchment. This was an unusual mood for the Potions master to be in; irascible was one thing, but this seemed almost personal.

"I do not see anything amiss," said the Headmaster cautiously after a few moments of study. 

"No, I thought you might not. Review the list again, and tell me what would happen if you were to put virgin's blood into the potion." Never in his life had Snape come this close to lecturing the Headmaster like an ignorant first year.

A few moments later, Albus's eyes widened with understanding. 

"The clarity of vision conferred by the virgin's blood would make this a mind-reading potion," he said softly. " It won't be as powerful as it would if all of the donors were virgins, but it will be strong enough to read everyone at the gathering. Voldemort could learn everything." 

"Precisely," said Severus shortly.

"Voldemort is not well enough versed in potions to be aware of this fact," Albus said. "I highly doubt he is planning to make such a substitution. He does not suspect anyone in your number of being an informant, does he?"

"I do not believe so, no. But he is no fool, and he will quickly discover the alteration in the potion when he takes it- even if he does not understand it. I will be very high in the Dark Lord's good graces for the five seconds it will take for him to look my way and learn a few things I'd rather he didn't."

Albus frowned slightly.

"Do you think he intends to harm a virgin for the sake of this potion, Severus?" he asked in a troubled tone.

"He won't have to," said Snape, and his expression hardened slightly at Albus's mildly puzzled expression.

"For Merlin's sake, Albus," he ground out. "Are you going to humiliate me by asking me to spell it out for you?" The normally smooth voice was rough with emotion, and he snapped a great deal harder at the Headmaster than he usually permitted himself to do. In response, Albus raised an eyebrow in a manner that the Potions master did not know how to interpret. Frustrated, Severus made a noise of disgust in his throat and turned away from the Headmaster, arms crossed defensively across his chest.

"Do you have any idea how many crimes against women Voldemort thinks I have performed at his request- and how many of them I have _not_ done? The moment he drinks this stuff and thinks in my direction, he'll see in my mind exactly what's different about it and exactly who is responsible. The fact that I am still a virgin is proof that I have lied to him many times over. If _that_ isn't enough to send him rooting through every memory and thought I've ever had, then I'll kiss every goblin in Gringott's on _both_ sets of cheeks. The magnitude of such a disaster hardly bears consideration." 

He could feel his face heating with embarrassment, and he bit the inside of his lip to keep himself silent as something dangerously close to the line between sympathy and pity dawned on his superior's face. 

And that was when Hermione Granger's voice interrupted his train of thought. 

"You're still a virgin?" She stepped out of the shadows of the windowsill, and he groaned inwardly. He'd had no idea she was still in the room- if he had, he would have thrown her out posthaste, and no recent nagging thoughts about how different she was from the student he remembered would have stopped him. Given the direction this conversation was going to take, they might well have encouraged him. 

"Miss Granger," he said coolly by way of greeting, and by way of pointing out that she'd been eavesdropping.

"I apologize for not making my presence known," she replied, equally coolly. "But you seemed most anxious to speak to Albus. For good reason, it would seem." 

"I hardly think the reason is any of your business," he said acidly. 

"No," she agreed, but there was something in her face that rankled him.

"Miss Granger, kindly do not feel the need to put on a polite façade for my sake. If you're shocked at the discussion, have the courage to look it." He crossed his arms over his chest, his expression stony.

"I'm not shocked," she said quietly. "Just surprised."

"Meaning?" he snapped.

"Meaning I'm surprised to learn you're still a virgin. I wouldn't have thought it."

"I suppose you expected that I had, in fact, taken part in the usual Death Eater activities," he said, his tone low and dangerous.

"No, I did not," she replied tartly. "I just- well, you were a student here, too, Professor. And you were- are- Slytherin. I don't think any of the Slytherins in my year made it past fifth year as virgins."

The color drained from his face, and he looked angrier than ever. Hermione took fleeting comfort in the fact that he could no longer give her detention- but the victory was a hollow one. The look in his eyes was one she'd never seen before, because she'd never angered him with a personal remark. Until now- when she was just beginning to know the person hidden beneath the carefully crafted facade. His spine was stiff, his hackles clearly raised, and he made only the barest effort to refrain from snarling his rejoinder at her.

"Thank you for pointing out my inadequacies, Miss Granger," he said icily. "If this is the part where you tell me that even Neville Longbottom got laid once, I will kill you, and then myself." 

Hermione drew breath to make a reply, but he forestalled it with an impatient movement of one hand. His eyes glittered with something dangerous, emotion roiling just beneath the tightly calm expression on his face. His voice dropped to the whisper of steel springing from its sheath as he moved toward her with slow, measured steps. 

"Take a good, long look at me, Miss Granger- in case you never have." He held his arms out to his sides in a gesture of self-mocking display. "I can assure you that I am hardly any different at 45 than I was at 18. Given what you see, Miss Granger, is it really surprising that no woman ever wanted me?"

She stared up at him for a long moment, surprise in her eyes. 

"Yes."


	2. Chapter 2

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Last Minute Crisis

By Quillusion

Chapter 2

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Severus knew instantly from the look on Hermione Granger's face that she had not intended to say that out loud- whatever other reaction she might have planned to give him.

He wasn't sure what to make of that.

Albus cleared his throat in the sudden stillness and got to his feet with a swiftness that was surprising for a wizard of his years. 

"Well. I think I will let you handle this little problem as you see fit, Severus," he said, his expression as cheerful as his tone, and was gone in the blink of a twinkling eye.

Severus narrowed his eyes on the Headmaster's retreating form with a dark look. 

"Coward," he said under his breath, but said nothing further. He couldn't say anything, really, because he was himself suddenly desperate to get away from this embarrassing situation. Turning abruptly away from the young woman before the window, he went to check on the cauldron simmering at the workbench against the far wall, stirring it with rather more vigor than was required. 

"That's your favorite stirring rod," came Hermione's voice from the window. "You'll be angry with yourself if you break it." Her tone was gentle- gentler than he deserved after his behavior- and he positively hated the thought that she almost certainly felt pity for him. 

But she was right, and he knew it. Sighing inwardly, he drew the glass rod out of the cauldron, wiped it clean, and put it away with the absent efficiency of long habit. His hands, now empty and uncertain, curled around the countertop then, knuckles clenched white on the benchtop. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, knowing what he ought to say and knowing just as well that it would be difficult to get the words out. He hadn't had much practice at apology.

It took him a moment to gather the necessary courage. "My apologies," he finally managed, feeling another wave of shame break over his shoulders at the slight grating tone of his voice. After all the work he and this girl had done together, he felt as though he owed her better manners. She'd risen in his estimation in the years since her graduation, and months of familiarity had done nothing to erode his new respect for her. It was that respect which made him elaborate: 

"I did not mean to speak so harshly to you."

"I am sorry I intruded," she offered in return. "It was none of my business." 

He snorted softly, her ready acceptance of his apology lifting his dark mood a little. "You say that as if you have the ability to restrain your sense of curiosity," he said, but despite his words, his tone was not accusatory. He slowly turned around, and was relieved to find her expression neutral. So she was not furious at his behavior, then. He wasn't sure why that mattered to him, but it did. 

"I was not curious," she defended herself, then seemed to think better of it. "Which is not to say that the matter doesn't hold some intrinsic interest," she said. "But it's- it's not what I expected." 

Severus let a wry grin twist his lips. "I suppose that ought to make me feel marginally better," he said. "But it isn't as if the offers have been rolling in- and to be frank, Miss Granger, it does very little for my ego to hear that even Longbottom has managed to pass one of the milestones of adolescence which I missed altogether." 

Hermione shook her head with a smile.

"I never said that," she told him gently, and was amused to see his shoulders sag the faintest fraction with something suspiciously like relief. 

"Feel better?" she asked, teasingly, and he shot her a glare. 

"No," he said flatly, hoping his tone sounded final. He turned back to put the last few jars of potions ingredients back on the shelves of the worktable, and then swept the counter clean. 

Hermione studied him for another moment as she moved to sit in her chair beside the chessboard. "Was there really never an offer?" She absently reached for the black king and put him back on his starting square, giving him a quelling look when he stared at her with ill-concealed disgust.

He turned his head and shot her an irritated look. "What happened to 'it isn't any of my business'?"

This time she snorted. "That changed as soon as you joined the conversation. But you don't have to answer the question. It was impertinent." She moved a knight and a rook to their proper squares and then turned to gauge the Potions master's response.

His reply was sardonic. "Thank you _very_ much, Miss Granger." He shot her a glare. "I can't recall the last time I heard anything so impertinent. And, as I've hardly been overcome with the urge to have an utterly inappropriate conversation about sex with one of my former students, I do think I'll take you up on your kind offer not to have to answer it."

She let the corner of her mouth turn up in acknowledgment of her amusement. "Why should it be inappropriate?"

"Oh, I don't suppose the fact that my handwriting is all over your transcript has much to do with anything," he said sarcastically, then gentled a little. "The topic itself, however, is unthinkable. I don't discuss my sex life with anyone." 

"Perhaps that's why we're discussing the lack of it right now."

"Stop being so insightful."

He came to take Albus's chair across from her, and Hermione realized that his remark had been completely devoid of the usual sting. Somehow the banter had entered an odd sort of place where the old rules seemed to be suspended- as if Severus was now admitting that he should move Hermione from the Student category to the Peers and Colleagues category in his mind. Although, Hermione thought, he already seemed to have acknowledged that by speaking to her as an adult with Albus in the room. She'd never thought to hear Severus Snape use the phrase "get laid"- that much was certain. Somehow she'd always thought pureblood wizards had their own slang for such things. 

"So," Hermione prompted again, hardly believing her own daring. "Was there ever an offer?"

A dark eyebrow arched over one baleful eye, and he sighed as if recognizing the grip of her curiosity's teeth on the subject at hand. 

"One. That I wouldn't have taken if it were the last offer from the last woman on earth. Even assuming I could have."

"Who?"

"Moaning Myrtle." He said it sotto voce, as if afraid someone might overhear. He had to repeat it when Hermione couldn't hear him. 

"Oh, my God." She was at once horrified and amused; the very notion of Severus Snape standing face to face with Myrtle in the girl's lav was improbable to the point of hilarity, even without imagining the Olympic-caliber scowling match that would have ensued between the two of them. 

Snape shot her a warning look. "My humiliation is complete. If I hear about this from ANY of the students, I swear on my godmother's wand I will hunt you down and hex you six ways from Sunday."

Hermione swallowed a giggle that threatened to erupt, and the effort almost brought tears to her eyes. "You have my word. That's too much for anyone to contemplate. She had a crush on Harry, and he was mortified. So at least you're in good company." 

He made a sour face. "If you say so." 

"At least she never offered to let you share her toilet."

Severus laughed. "You think Potter's the first one who got that line from her? She hits on anything with a Y chromosome that wanders into her bathroom without female company- and she's successful much of the time. How do you think she got the nickname 'Moaning Myrtle'?" 

Hermione's jaw dropped in the most stunned expression he'd ever seen on her face. He savored it for a moment before going on, a wicked gleam in his eye and a faint curve of amusement to his mouth. 

"I came across her trying to seduce Neville Longbottom one night, for example. I don't want to know why he came to her bathroom at that hour, but I suppose perhaps Neville and I have more in common than I had previously thought." He smirked a little at that. "I scared him away and gave Myrtle a lecture that would have scared most of Slytherin into good behavior for a week. But Myrtle was from the old school and was not easily intimidated, even by her current Head of House." 

He saw Hermione blink in surprise. "You didn't know she was a Slytherin, did you?" he asked. 

"No idea," she said. "The old robes didn't have house names on them like the current ones do." 

Severus shifted in his chair a little and shrugged. "No, they didn't. I didn't know she was in my House at the time, but I found out later. When I threatened to have her toilet removed if she did not behave, she promptly offered a 'bargain'." He smiled tightly. "Her... favors in exchange for my silence. When I refused, she got quite as angry as any affronted Slytherin I'd ever seen. What she lacked in self-confidence, she made up for in feeling. That's common enough in younger members of my House; when they're not high enough on the pecking order to assert themselves as they'd like, they bottle up their feelings and vent them where they can. She might have made quite a powerful witch, if not for the Basilisk." 

Hermione sighed. "Poor Myrtle," she said. 

"Why?" asked Severus archly. "She gets more action than Draco Malfoy ever did. Don't waste your pity; she's a ghost, yes- but she knows how to live." 

"If that's your idea of how to live," said Hermione with a shrug and a look that eloquently conveyed her doubt. "It seems lacking in more than just variety. But whatever else it is, it isn't a solution the problem at hand, as you've just said you wouldn't take her offer if she were the last woman on earth." 

"Quite," Severus confirmed with a faint shudder. "Not when she has no interest in me beyond what I represent." 

He paused, and Hermione knew there was something else he'd almost said. She waited, knowing that if she spoke she'd break the fragile sense of safety that had moved him to even draw breath to speak.

"It's ironic," he said at last in a soft voice, not looking at her. "I know I'm not a handsome man. I'm frightening, in a lot of ways- as much because I have cultivated the quality as because of any inherent trait of my own. I'm unpleasant, and I don't encourage attachments of even the most trivial nature. I've only successfully asked a woman out twice in my life, and I've been turned down too many times to count. And yet-" he paused, as if searching for the right words. "And yet there have been just as many times when I am certain that the woman was looking at me with interest. _That_ sort of interest. Against all possibility, all probability- all _sanity_. And still she said no." 

He did raise his gaze then, his dark eyes burning into hers. "A lot of women seem to be drawn to dark, mysterious, brooding, tragic figures. They like the romanticism of it- the notion that, with their love, they can heal a man like that and make him whole again. Tame him, in some cases." One eyebrow quirked, as if he found the notion unlikely. "But their fantasies leave out the unpleasant traits they know must really exist in such men, and so their devotion is only as deep as the glamour they have cast for themselves. I've had a lifetime to study this little phenomenon, and I can only conclude that while a good many women have been fascinated by the idea of me, not one has ever had the courage- or the desire- to face the reality of me." 

Hermione stared up into his eyes for a long moment, her mouth open in a soft, silent _Oh! _of comprehension. Her heart beat painfully hard in her chest, and she could not find words to reply. He smiled a little, sadly, and nodded once as if in confirmation of something. Then he turned his gaze back to the table.

For a few moments, the only sound was the low _whoosh _of the flames beneath the cauldron and the faint click of chess pieces as Severus replaced the white ones in their proper places on the chessboard. The black king shot him a wistful look which he did not see, and sighed as Hermione returned his queen to her square beside him. The two pieces shared a beleaguered look, but Hermione was paying them no heed.

"How long before you have to go?" she asked Severus when she could find her voice. It took an effort to keep the emotions brought out by his comment out of her tone.

"I must leave a few minutes before midnight," he replied shortly, his tone brisk again. "Which doesn't leave much time to work around this little complication. I'll just have to find a way to make Voldemort think I've put my blood in the potion without actually doing so." 

The chess pieces seemed to have caught something in the tone of Hermione's voice when she spoke, because they had stopped being melodramatic and were watching the conversation with some interest now. Neither Severus nor Hermione saw the exasperated look the black king was sending their way. The white queen was scowling at him as if he had poor manners, and he shot her a rather descriptive gesture in response. She shook her head in disgust, and looked at his queen as if to ask why she hadn't done anything about her mate. The black queen just shrugged fatalistically, shushed them both, and turned her small face up to hear Hermione's reply.

"I'm not sure that would be wise," Hermione ventured cautiously. "If Voldemort can't detect your input into the potion's effects, he'll know you skipped adding your blood. There can't be many better ways to make yourself stand out." 

Severus sighed. "True." Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, he rubbed his face with both hands, the fatigue and worry of the last twenty years showing in every line of his form. "I can honestly say that it never once occurred to me that this would ever become a problem. Aside from my mother pestering me about carrying on the family name, that is- but I've learned to ignore that. If I had known_ this _was going to happen, I might have looked for a way around my squeamishness where Myrtle is concerned." 

That gave Hermione pause. "Squeamish?" she echoed. "Is it the act itself that bothers you?" She'd heard of people who found sex distasteful for various reasons, but from his earlier remarks, she hadn't thought he might be one of them. The idea distressed her a little.

The chess pieces had entirely given up on staying in their places. In the absence of a game to force them into obeying the rules, they crowded back to the edge of the chessboard and sat down, looking for all the world like fans at a tennis match. They followed the conversation as it volleyed between Severus and Hermione, little marble heads swiveling back and forth like spectators sitting at the net. The black king had started making graphically suggestive gestures at them that finally moved the black queen to swat him sharply. He rolled his eyes and smacked his forehead in clear expression of his opinion of the witch and wizard conversing in complete ignorance of his antics. None of the other pieces paid him any more mind than the humans did.

Severus was looking at Hermione in surprise, pausing a moment before answering her question. "No," he said. "Not that I'd really know one way or another, of course. It's just that- well, she wears student robes, and she always will. That bothers me, even beyond the other detractors with which nature has supplied her in plenty- and I know that's the pot calling the kettle black." He grimaced a little, and rose from the chair to peek at the simmering cauldron again, speaking softly to the flames beneath it to back them down a little. 

"There's nothing wrong with students per se, of course," he went on. "And Circe knows I've caught more than a few of them having sex with each other- nearly everyone you know, in fact. Your friend Mr. Weasley is among the randiest creatures ever to roam these halls at night." He shot an amused glance at Hermione. "But I've been teaching far too long to be comfortable with the notion of having sex with a student myself. Even if she was born over twenty years before me."

"That certainly doesn't sound like the sort of thing one can just override," Hermione commented, mentally cleaning up the mess he'd made in her head by mentioning Ron having sex. She ignored the little pang that came from hearing him disavow any interest in students; it was entirely appropriate, and he had no way of knowing she'd had a crush on him for the last three years of school. She had felt just as he had, that it was not acceptable for her to admit as much, and had kept a tight rein on her behavior toward him as a result. 

But she was no longer a student, and no such barriers lay between them now. The odd circumstances they found themselves facing were bringing dormant but living feelings to the surface, the faint tendrils of remembered affection curling toward the warmth of the decidedly mature affection she felt for him. They were weaving together with her adult knowledge of this man, once her teacher, now her peer, and she felt a sudden sense of dizzying freedom. She shivered.

Severus was replying to her remark, unaware of her inner monologue. "No, Hermione," he said. "It isn't something I can just ignore. And if it were, well - even _I_ have standards." 

Hermione laughed at that, pleasantly distracted by the way her name sounded on his lips. He'd never called her by her given name before; in his soft baritone, her antiquarian name was exotic. "At least she's a Slytherin," she observed glibly. "It could be worse. Your only other option at the moment is a Gryffindor- although I do have the advantage of having graduated." 

Her words echoed in the sudden stillness, surprising her as much as him. A fleeting instant later, she realized that her subconscious had made a decision, and a good one, without really consulting her- for while her heart was pounding, it was from excitement, not from embarrassment. When he swiftly turned to search her face, her expression was clear and open.

He didn't look shocked. Or horrified, thank Merlin. His expression was curiously blank, only the intense look in his eyes giving away any hint that he had heard her. He studied her for a moment, gaze flicking down her form, then back up to her face, and then one eyebrow rose in silent counterpoint to his voice. 

"Gryffindor, indeed," he said. "Be careful what you imply, Miss Granger. I seem to have misplaced my sense of humor this afternoon and I don't anticipate finding it again until after the current crisis has passed." 

She arched a brow in reply, and stood to face him. "I never thought I'd hear you accuse a Gryffindor of being anything other than blunt and obvious," she said with a smile. "I wasn't trying to imply anything. As much as I know subtlety is near and dear to a Slytherin's heart, we'll have to discuss it later. Right now, you have to make a choice." 

Severus was standing perfectly still, his eyes narrowed a little on her face, his mind racing. He hadn't expected this- although perhaps he should have. Hermione Granger had never lacked for the courage of her House, and he knew that as well as anyone could. Remembering that he'd just explained his theory of female behavior to her, he felt a small streak of mirth; he could never have made that complaint of a Gryffindor, had he ever turned to one. Although, back then, he'd had neither the liberty nor the egalitarian maturity to do so. 

But it was now, not then, and a Gryffindor was standing before him, offering something he'd never thought to know- whether for the right reasons, or the wrong reasons, he couldn't say- and he couldn't bring himself to let that affect his decision, even though it did matter to him. 

__

Why did this have to happen now? he wondered silently. _I would have found the courage to ask her in time. This could ruin any chance I might ever have had._ He pushed away the small twinge of guilt he knew he didn't need to feel; she was no longer a student, and he had a right to the feelings that had taken slow root in his heart over the last few years. 

Severus knew what his choice had to be, but the potential price was daunting to him. He honestly didn't know if taking her up on her offer- his dream- would hurt the unspoken accord that had grown between them over the years, or the comfortable near-friendship that his private feelings had kept him from fully developing. And now he lacked the luxury of time to consider the matter- because even a Gryffindor's courage would quail under too long a stare from the Potions master. 

He slowly crossed the few feet of space between them, stopping only when he could feel her warmth, and looked down into her upturned face. 

" You do realize, Hermione," he murmured, "that I am a virgin- not an innocent. There is a difference." 

She was watching him intently, her pupils dilated, her breathing a little fast as she absorbed the scent and warmth of him so close to her. "I know," she affirmed, her voice husky. "I wouldn't expect anything less from a man of your complexity." 

Severus tipped his head to one side a little, studied her face solemnly. "Then I'll tell you something I've never said out loud before," he said, his voice so low he was nearly whispering, and she leaned toward him a little to catch his words. He took the opportunity to raise one hand to cup her cheek, a streak of feral pleasure running down his spine as she shivered and leaned closer. Taking one more step toward her, bringing their bodies into contact at long, aching last, he reached around her and drew her against him. He met her eyes for one long moment, giving her every chance to back away, before deliberately bending to catch her mouth with his in a kiss whose chaste appearance utterly belied the sensual promises it whispered.

Hermione felt the touch of his lips like an electric shock that shot from her mouth to her heart and straight to her cervix. She'd never felt anything like it, and she wanted more; her hands tangled in his hair for a moment, holding him to her, until the psychic force of the kiss robbed her of strength. He wasn't being demanding, hadn't even parted his lips against hers, and yet she felt as though she'd never been kissed more thoroughly in all her life. Every nerve in her body crackled with life, every inch of skin throbbed with sensitivity. Whatever else he had or hadn't done, Severus Snape certainly knew how to kiss. 

When he let her go, her knees were shaking. He smiled wickedly, the expression lighting his eyes breathtakingly, and unobtrusively increased his hold on her, for she was sagging in his arms. The fact made him feel quite a bit better about the situation; he knew better than to think that Hermione would feign interest in this for his sake. She had her arms around his neck and was not letting go, and so he reached down and deftly scooped her up into his arms. As he carried her across the lab to the door, he turned his head and softly spoke into her ear.

"There are times when one Gryffindor is worth all the Slytherins in the wizarding world." 

And with that, he stepped through the door, savoring the wide-eyed look of disbelief on Hermione Granger's face as she lay in his arms. The door swung shut behind him, preventing either of them from hearing the tiny cheers from the chessboard, or the stony click of the white queen falling over in a heated swoon. The black queen was nowhere in sight, her king having long since dragged her off the board and into the relative privacy of the mahogany chest in which they normally lived. 

-tbc


	3. Chapter 3

****

Last Minute Crisis 

by Quillusion

A/N: Sorry for the delay in updating- real life has been hectic with the holidays. But now just about everything's ready, and it's even snowing outside! Currier & Ives would love the view out my window right now. Anyway, for those of you reading on ff.net, this is the 'edited' version of the chapter. The scenes left out of the 'fade to black version' will be available in the full version on aff.net (adultfanfiction.net) or Whispers (gryffindor.nu/wiktt). You can find my works on those pages by doing a search for Quillusion or for the work title. I'd give you the links but you know how ff.net is.

****

Chapter 3

The trip down the dungeon hallway was incredibly short to Hermione; she'd felt Severus take only twenty or so steps before he stopped in front of a large carved panel in the wall. It was midway between two torches, and she could barely make out the images in the carving; it appeared to be a representation of Moses parting the Red Sea. She would have found that surprising when she was younger; it had not been until the fifth year of History of Magic that she had learned all about the wizards and witches whose lives were so well known to those followers of the major religions of the world. She'd found it ironic that, in centuries not too long past, the members of many of those religions had so violently lashed out against witchcraft and wizardry, completely unaware that many of the founders whose faith they honored so staunchly had shared the abilities they now reviled.

She could feel the wards around the carving, but a moment later Severus had said the few short words that released them and she was too busy staring at the figures in the panel to mentally pick over his password. Moses, standing on the stony shore of his eternally parting Red Sea, stepped aside and nodded to Severus. He cast an interested look at Hermione, but Severus growled softly, 

"You've already got your own. Leave off." 

Moses laughed silently and waved them toward the path between the towering waves, and then- with mind-bending suddenness- the entire scene became three-dimensional. 

Massive, impossibly still granite waves hulked over their heads, somehow seeming to heave like real waves without any motion whatsoever. She could hear the incongruous sound of sand under Severus's feet as he stepped off the flags of the hallway, and a moment later the four edges of the backside of the panel became visible over Severus's shoulder as he moved forward. Hermione's brow furrowed a little as she stared at the rapidly vanishing dungeon hallway on the other side of the portal, almost as if expecting Pharaoh's army to charge through after them. But the portal closed without event, and suddenly the waves around them _shifted_ into real, bulging walls of water. 

Hermione sucked in a deep breath of surprise at the change. As she looked up, she was even more startled to discovered that the walls did not go up to reach the water's surface. Rather, Severus was carrying her through a tunnel of water; the inner face of the tunnel's walls was a soft, glassy green whose surface flickered with dappled patterns of filtered sunlight and shadow. They must be under the lake. As if in confirmation of her thoughts, the giant squid cruised past, doing a barrel roll along the wall in what almost seemed like a greeting. Severus chuckled, the sound vibrating softly against her ribs as she leaned into his embrace.

The tunnel seemed longer than it actually was, and a moment later they were indoors again, this time in a dimly-lit sitting room. Severus had got his wand into his hand somehow, and with a few softly muttered words he brought the lighting up a bit to reveal what Hermione realized must be his private rooms. They were comfortable looking, not totally neat but not unbearably cluttered- and there were enough books to make her palms itch.

"I hope you don't mind coming here," Severus said softly as he crossed the room, the silk of his voice sliding down her spine and making her shiver. "I thought my rooms would be closer." 

She thought of her little rented room in Hogsmeade, on the third floor over a tiny family-owned jewelry store. "Closer is good right now ," she murmured, warmly aware that he hadn't put her down despite having reached what she felt certain was his bedroom door. 

"How much closer?" he asked in a velvet murmur, one eyebrow lifted suggestively. 

Hermione laughed, momentarily speechless at the discovery that Severus Snape did, in fact, know how to flirt. And that he was flirting with _her_, even under these odd circumstances- as though he wanted to make up for those circumstances, wanted her to feel cherished, courted... desired for who she was, rather than for convenience or necessity. The realization clashed with everything in his carefully cultivated image, and she knew she'd been right, all those years, to think there was more to him than met the eye- or the mind. She wondered what else he kept so carefully hidden. _You do realize, Hermione, that I am a virgin- not an innocent. There is a difference._

"Now there's something I think we need to explore a little more thoroughly," she demurred, feeling her cheeks flush as she answered both his question and her own internal musings. With that, she reached out a hand and gave the doorknob before them a turn. She pushed the door open with the slow deliberateness of ceremony. 

"Shall we?" she asked softly, conscious of the irony of inviting him into his own bedchamber. 

"Indeed," he replied, his voice husky, and the velvet of his voice swirled around her like the waiting darkness into which he carried her.

Severus had set her down on the bed before her eyes had a chance to adjust to the dimness; he moved through the darkness of his room with the ease of long knowledge, and by the time she had acclimated enough to make out the faint shape of him in the dark, he had conjured a fire in a large stone brazier that stood in the center of the floor. 

"It's Flooproof," he remarked, gesturing to the brazier and its ornately carved scrollwork. 

"I like it," Hermione answered. "It sheds more light than a hearth, too." 

"All to the good," he murmured, coming to stand before her, hands momentarily in his pockets to hide his nervousness. He drew one hand out to slowly, gently trace the contours of her face with a deft finger, and she shivered and tilted her head into the caress.

"You are lovely," he breathed reverently, and her eyes flew open with surprise. 

He meant it- that was plain. His aspect was unguarded, his features gilded with only the faintest hint of nervousness, and a faint, deprecating smile touched his lips at the startlement he read on her features.

"I don't imagine you ever thought I could have anything complimentary to say about you," he said softly, almost regretfully. He drew his hand back from her face, his expression bleak. "Even if you had, I don't suppose you would have expected _that_." His voice dropped so low she almost didn't hear his last few words: "Or wanted it."

And that's when she realized the truth of it. She could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice- and suddenly she understood his hesitancy, the brittleness of his manner with her in the lab this evening- and the meaning of a thousand small and uncharacteristic hitches of hand and voice over the past year. 

_Oh! _

No wonder he was nervous. To be so laid bare, so vulnerable to careless devastation before the woman he loved... this must be the finest form of agony to Severus Snape. 

Hermione felt a sudden flash of insight, her mind suddenly and instantaneously grasping the disparate threads of the matter and finding them woven into a whole cloth whose darkness shrouded her eyes and kept her from seeing the truth that lay before her, carefully hidden.

She realized that if Severus really did have any hopes of a future with her, he very likely thought that tonight would put an end to them. He was bound to see her acceptance of him now as motivated by pity- an emotion for which he could feel nothing but loathing. And she knew him well enough to understand that he would quietly bury any hope of loving her as an equal, rather than risk a relationship born of such humbling origins. Small wonder that a man whose other relationships were all defined and constrained by his sense of debt, obligation, and honor should wish for a chance to give and take freely, without thought of recompense or repayment. And now he was afraid that, after tonight, Hermione would relegate him to the role of debtor in their relationship- the same role he played in all his other attachments. Simply because he believed she had no stronger feeling for him than that.

She smiled. Severus Snape, for all his brilliance, cunning, and keen observational skills, had all the mental agility of a postage stamp when it came to matters of the heart. 

"Come here," she said, catching his hand in hers and gently drawing him to sit next to her on his bed.

His frame was tense as he sank hesitantly onto the mattress beside her, but his countenance was calm; however much he might be regretting his last words, he was going to stand behind them. She wondered, for a brief instant, whether he would have asked her for this tonight, had she not offered. She thought not. He had the courage to face pain, torture, death, and first year Hufflepuffs- but she sincerely doubted he could have mustered the nerve to ask for what she could now admit she had wanted to give since she had returned to Hogwarts as an adult. 

She'd deliberately overlooked that little truth for the last twelve months, careful never to disturb the quiet ideas taking gentle root in the back of her mind. She hadn't wanted to endanger the fragile friendship that had sprung up between them, an exotic flower blooming where once she had thought to find only stone and ash. It had seemed plain to her that a former student would never interest the Potions master- certainly not a Gryffindor, much less the know-it-all he had barely tolerated in his classroom for seven years. 

Never in her life had Hermione Granger so enjoyed knowing she was wrong.

She turned a little on the bed to face him, aware that she had paused long enough in thought for the conversation to stall, and knowing as well that he would fear that she was groping for polite words of negation.

"I've never expected any overtpraise from you," said Hermione softly. "At first because I thought you would not give it. Then, later, because I knew you _could _not." He closed his eyes at her words, jaw muscles clenching, and gently pulled his hand away from her- but she did not let it go, only allowing him to pull their clasped hands from her lap to his. She paused, waiting until he opened his eyes and met her gaze again before she went on. 

"It was years before I understood that the harsh standards you seemed to set for me alone were the best compliment you could give. Even your remark about my teeth looks different when viewed in hindsight. I didn't know at the time that you were keeping up appearances, as it were, and I certainly had little appreciation for Slytherin wit." She quirked a smile up at him. "And who but the Head of Slytherin could have come up with such a double entendre so quickly? It was so subtly done that it took me years to realize that I'd missed half the point of the quip." 

Something flickered across Severus's face for an instant before he brought his expression back under control, and Hermione felt her chest tighten at the sight. She felt a sense of triumph in that moment; she'd been right to look for a double meaning in the words, just as she'd been right to look for one in the man himself. But had she interpreted his subtlety correctly? She pressed on.

"You said that you saw no difference- because nothing that really mattered had changed, to your way of thinking. You're not a man to set much store in physical appearance. And in all the years I've known you, that remark is the only one you have ever made about anyone's looks. That's what made me rethink what you were really saying. Your insults are always aimed at intellect, at ability- and as often as you made disparaging remarks about my participation in class, I can't help noticing your disdain never carried over onto my transcript." Her eyes sparkled with amusement.

"So perhaps I wouldn't have expected a compliment from you, Severus. Least of all to hear that I am beautiful in your eyes. But then, _all_ of the best gifts I've ever received have come as a complete surprise to me." She paused, quirked a smile at him. "Even when they were wishes granted at long last." 

His eyebrows rose at that, and she saw the faint spark of hope kindling in his dark eyes. 

"Hermione," he breathed. He swallowed audibly. "I..."

"Severus," she said softly, when he didn't continue. "None of the other women you told me about were Gryffindors, were they?" 

Stunned, he shook his head in mute answer. 

She smiled, a sultry expression he'd never seen on her features before. 

"I thought not." 

And before he could gather his wits to reply, she leaned into him and brought her mouth up under his to catch him in a warm kiss full of all the things he would have squirmed to hear spoken aloud. 

He held her close, but she could feel the restraint he exercised over himself while his sharp mind rechecked its work for the seventh time, unable to quite believe the conclusion to which it had come. Willing to wait until he was sure, she eased her hands up his back to the nape of his neck, where she slid curious fingers into the dark warm silk of his hair. Cradling the base of his skull in her palm, she felt the delicious heat of him engulf her, and wondered how anyone could have thought this man cold-blooded. Or greasy, she mentally added as she sifted the satin strands through her fingers. There was some oil at the roots, but nothing unusual. She sighed with pleasure and pressed a little more against his mouth, still soft and gentle on hers. 

It was her movement that finally broke the deadlock in Severus's mind. Her body fitted up against his with a natural ease that even his knotted-up wits couldn't mistake; she had meant what he thought she had meant.

Not just for pity's sake, then. Not because it was necessary to save the Order's plans. Not even because it was necessary to save him. 

But because she wanted to.

Hope and desire flared in his eyes for a bright moment, and she saw it when he broke the kiss to look down at her, felt it in the way the tension melted and his body relaxed into hers. 

"You're sure," he murmured, and it wasn't a question, but she nodded anyway. 

The faint curl to the corner of his mouth was minute- but she saw it plain as day, and shivered with anticipation.

"Well then," he said, and she blinked. This soft, velvet rustle of sound that drew her nerves out so finely was only a hair's breadth off from the menacing tones she thought of as his Detention Voice. But the effects were worlds apart.

__

That could fuel more than a few fantasies, she thought faintly as he slid one hand down to the small of her back to draw her closer. His other hand came up to cradle her jaw, lifting her chin and tilting her head so he could brush her hair away from her eyes.

This time, it was he who brought his mouth to hers. And for all they'd touched lips twice, this was their first kiss- for Severus no longer hid himself from Hermione behind a wall of reserve, or duty, or insecurity. He took everything she offered him, and in return poured all of his tightly leashed passion, regret, anguish, longing, and hope into a kiss that turned star-bright and white hot within seconds. 

It was several minutes before Severus came back into himself, and then he wrapped his arms around Hermione, pivoted on one hip, and lowered her slowly back to lie upon the comforter. His hands were shaking, but he didn't think she'd noticed; he wasn't sure if it was from fear, excitement, or arousal. He wordlessly urged her up to lie on the bed properly, following her moves and bracing an arm on the bed to keep his weight off of her. He broke the kiss for a moment to gently untangle her hair and spread it across the pillow, his fingers wrapping sensually in the warm curls.

Merlin's teakettle, he'd never expected this. Never even dared to hope for it. He could only remember one other time in his life when he'd felt so lucky, and even that situation had involved the merciful withholding of pain rather than the giving of pleasure. Fate was not in the habit of being kind to him, but he was beginning to think that the fickle creature had merely been saving up all of its benevolence to bring him this moment. 

And it was worth it. She was looking up at him now, her expression soft, and he felt his mouth curl again in the not-quite-smile that had become so common when she was around. He didn't know if she knew that, but he meant to tell her. Later.

His gaze traveled down her form, from crown to soles, and he felt suddenly like a starving traveler admitted to the king's table. He hardly knew where to start. But the small bit of his mind that was watching the clock whispered a soft, worried reminder; like Cinderella, he must leave at midnight to make his appearance at Voldemort's side, or be revealed for what he was- and the consequences for him were far worse than pumpkinhood. 

Severus found that none of that really mattered at the moment. They had at least an hour, and surely there was time enough in that span for him to give, and find, a little pleasure. An electric rush of anticipation skimmed along underneath his skin, and he shivered a little at the feel. Leaning in again, he found her mouth with his.

When Hermione gently tugged on his hair to break the kiss, he found himself gasping for breath, hands trembling, hips shifting against her. 

"Clothes," she murmured, and the newness of the situation reasserted itself in his mind. He let her sit up, watched for a moment as her hands settled on the buttons of her robes. Then, suddenly eager, he got to his feet and shrugged out of the outer robes he always wore. He tossed them over a chair, took her robe from her and did the same. When he turned back to Hermione, he found her studying him intently. 

She was smiling, her gaze traveling down his form, and he suddenly wondered what she thought of him. He glanced down at himself, seeing only the dark fabric of the same sort of clothes he'd always worn. Very standard wizard attire, but it must seem so odd to Muggle-born eyes. He raised his head again and looked into her face, and was startled to see a gleam in her eyes. 

"I have to say, Severus," she said contemplatively, "as hard as it is for a lot of men to understand, there is something decidedly sexy about the buttoned-up repressed look. It's so... enticing. It suggests that all the buttons and cloth are needed to restrain the power of the passions within. And it practically screams 'come let me out.'" 

He didn't trust his voice, so he simply arched an eyebrow again. 

Hermione was kneeling on the bed now, and she moved closer to him with a soft sigh. "I remember the first time I saw you without the teaching robes," she said, her voice rich with memory. "The duel with Lockhart. You came up on the platform just as you are now, without those voluminous black robes swirling round you, and gone was the ageless, sexless teacher we'd all come to expect Professor Snape to be. A stranger was standing in his place, wearing an aura of masculine power and quiet self-confidence the way Professor Snape had worn the robes." She swallowed, warmed by the memory and the echoes of it set off by the sight of the man before her now. 

"And then you proceeded to demonstrate, with barely any effort, that you could easily kill Peacock Lockhart in your sleep and without a wand. That you were not just unpleasant, but also very dangerous. A sexy package, all things considered." Her eyes glinted. "A lot of us realized that day that we'd never really considered who our teachers were. What their lives had been like before they came to Hogwarts. What they might still be when they were off campus." She chuckled, her hands moving unerringly up to the buttons at his collar, and her fingers found the first one. He tipped his chin up to make her job easier, feeling his heart thud against his chest as his anticipation grew. The first button released silently, and she moved on to the next, her eyes locked with his in an intense gaze.

"I didn't really realize it until after I left Hogwarts, but you were the first man I ever really noticed as a man," she said. "And I've never met a man since who could match what I saw that day. You cut a marvelous figure, Severus, then as now- and you would likely have been the object of several schoolgirl crushes, including mine, if not for the truly horrid remarks you so helpfully made whenever the opportunity arose." 

She winked at him when she saw the faint shadow of regret cross his face. 

"Don't be silly," she said, her voice a low murmur as she undid the sixth button. " I don't imagine you were all that sorry you said it at the time, and it's water under the bridge in any case. You and I are not the people we were then."

"No," he agreed in a satin whisper, his eyes drawn to the lovely line of her cleavage, so temptingly displayed before him as she knelt at the edge of the bed, slowly undoing buttons. She was a woman; that Hermione had been a girl.

He leaned over then, caught her face in his hands, and kissed her- hard, thoroughly, and lustily. He thrust his tongue into her mouth eagerly, tasted her desire and the adrenaline rush of new sensations, and impatiently gathered her to him and laid them back on the bed together. 

The whimper he felt rush from her flesh to his shot a trembling jolt of arousal down to his groin, and he moaned aloud with delight. He let one hand slide down her side to the generous curve of her buttocks, catching the muscle and softness in his palm and kneading it, pressing her close against his aching body. 

Hermione arched into the touch, grinding her pelvis against his with a gasp of delight. Her mouth was sweet, the taste of her thick with desire, and he almost couldn't bring himself to let her break the kiss. "So much for Slytherin patience," she managed as she reached for the buttons on his coat, still only undone partway down his chest.

"I've noticed lately that Gryffindor impatience does have its strong points," he said, his voice a little unsteady as he brought his hands together to tear at the buttons on the tight cuffs of his jacket. 

"Mmm," she agreed, studying the buttons before her. "Like now." She murmured a spell that sent the buttons to quickly undoing themselves in order- but then she shook her head. 

"Finite incantatem." 

He looked at her in puzzlement, and she smiled. 

"There are strong points to Slytherin patience, too," she said softly, and slid her hands across his chest to sensually restart the process of undoing one button at a time. "I'd rather touch you." 

He laughed. "Turnabout is fair play," he reminded her as he let his hands fall to the side. 

And it was.

....................

They cradled one another in silence, letting their breathing come back to normal and the mad rush of their heartbeats gradually slow to the soft thump of contentment. Hermione gently brushed Severus's hair out of his eyes when he sat up at last. 

"I think that qualifies," she said teasingly, and he laughed.

"I should hope so," he agreed, and snagged his wand off the nightstand to whisper a quick cleansing charm. He frowned a little and turned to meet her gaze again. "Speaking of charms..." he said, and she shook her head.

"No need. I took care of it earlier." 

He raised an eyebrow in question, but she did not get a chance to answer him. The clock in the sitting room chimed, and Hermione's blood froze as she counted the chimes. Quarter to midnight.

"You have to go," she gasped, and then in a flurry of covers they were on their feet. Severus cast a powerful cleaning charm on himself and quickly dressed, while Hermione ran into the other room to put a charmed lid on the Eye of Sarudai, which was bubbling quietly in Severus's private workroom. When she straightened from inspecting the brew, he was in the lab with her.

She turned around, and her spine crawled at the sight of the Death Eater robe he wore. The mask was held in his left hand, by one edge, like the unpleasant thing it was. His face, above the collar of the robe, was pale, but composed. 

"Are you ready?" she asked, feeling the sudden distance between them like an uncrossable chasm.

"No," he replied simply. "I never am. But I'm going." He slowly started to put on the mask.

Hermione was across the room before he could bring it halfway to his face. 

"Come back safely," she murmured, and kissed him full on the mouth. "Do what you must- I won't think less of you." 

That won a tender quirk of his mouth, and he drank in the sight of her for another moment, cupping her right cheek in his left hand.

They both saw the ugly darkening of the Mark in the moment before it began to burn, and Severus snatched his hand away from Hermione's face as if afraid the power of the Mark would arc from him to her. He hissed softly, rubbing at his arm, and looked up into her eyes as if asking forgiveness.

"I'll be in the lab when you come home," she said softly. "I'm going to start the first batch of trials tonight. I want that damn thing off of you." 

Severus went to the benchtop, lifted the cauldron, and carried it to a door she hadn't noticed before; but of course, he would need a way onto and off of the grounds where no one would see him, for he could not Apparate on the grounds of the school. He turned, just before passing through the door, and pulled his mask on. 

It was odd, she thought to herself, to see such warm, achingly soft eyes behind such a cold mask. 

Slowly pulling on her own clothes, she moved into his lab and began to assemble ingredients to carry to the main lab for the first set of trial potions. 

She waited.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

****

Last Minute Crisis

by Quillusion

Chapter 4

The clock in the corner of the lab struck three o'clock, and Hermione jerked awake on the verge of falling off of her lab stool. With a hasty glance at the potion that was simmering on the flame- all looked fine in that quarter- she sat up and slowly unkinked the vertebrae of her lumbar spine in order. 

She scrubbed at her face a bit to wake herself up, then got up and wandered over to the small sideboard on the far side of the lab, where food would not be dangerously close to active potions and their components. She poured herself a glass of water and drank it all down, setting the glass aside for her own reuse later. Massaging the tight muscles at the back of her neck, she contemplated the clock again. 

Three hours. Not that long for a Death Eater gathering, but rather long given what she'd expected them to spend that meeting doing. She wondered how it was going; she hoped Severus was all right.

Moving back to her lab stool, Hermione dropped back onto it and sighed. Severus was more than all right- he was fantastic. Who would have guessed it possible to cloak such passion, even beneath a sartorial ode to Miles Standish? She smothered a giggle; the Potions master's sour reputation- and his ability to maintain discipline in his classroom- would never survive the leak of such information, for more than one reason.

She supposed that, to someone the age of his students, the notion of a man in his early forties still being a virgin would seem pathetic at first- to the men, at least. There would be much male imitation of swooning, high-pitched voices, and scorn, laced perhaps with derision and the natural adolescent male tendency to assume that no one-certainly not a man twenty-odd years their senior- could possibly be as skilled in the arts of love as they. There would likely be an insinuation that the lady had ulterior motives and a strong stomach for distasteful situations, rather than a true tendre for the Potions master.

But the female students were another matter altogether- as Hermione had every reason to know. No matter how loud her childish giggles and attestations of detestation between the dreaded Potions classes, a young woman's mind and intuition grew with the passage of even a few years, and it would not take long for the young girls in Severus's classes to pass into womanhood. And then they would feel the pull of his indefinable magnetism. As she had. And then they, too, would follow his movements out of the corner of their eye, half afraid, half fascinated- all too aware that at night, the sharp, wicked shadow of his presence would flicker among the darker things in their dreams as it now glided behind them and around them, silent but needing no sound to give away its presence and raise the hairs on the back of their necks. They would sit utterly still, paralyzed by the knowledge that a small corner of their mind was begging with equally silent intensity for his touch.

She had been careful her last year of school never to examine her feelings for the Potions master too closely, knowing it was inappropriate for her to do anything else and knowing too that there were more important things to be done. She had let the feelings sit undisturbed in a corner of her mind all through her university career, but when she returned to Hogwarts to work with Severus himself at Albus's request, she had found the thoughts and feelings shoved forward into the center of her mental desk again, and they were too large to remove without opening their box and examining them first.

She'd found them as shiny as the first day she put them away, as easily restored to their former brilliance and beauty as gold beneath dust: one sweep of that dark, intelligent gaze over hers had set them sparkling anew. 

Hermione sighed again, this time in puzzlement. She'd hinted at her feelings for him before they'd settled on the bed in earnest- considering the subtlety of Slytherin minds, he must think she'd shouted it at him- but she didn't know what he really felt. He hadn't said, at least not in terms that she could decipher. She considered their discussion of his double entendre insult; she supposed the fact that he had made an effort- however hidden- not to truly insult her ought to mean something, but she wasn't sure what. The fact that she'd figured it out had definitely had an impact on him, and a good one- but further than that, she could not hazard a guess. 

It would seem that Gryffindor impatience- or forthrightness- did indeed have its uses. She'd have to ask him outright.

Getting up from her chair, she went to give the potion another stir; it smelled faintly of sage, a nice smell that was quite soothing given her troubled ruminations. Her pride, and her heart, were rather endangered at the moment, but the warm swirling cloud of sage-scented steam permeated her mind and set her at ease a bit. Nothing ventured, nothing gained; and she knew Severus well enough to know that he was capable of working with someone for years on end without finding the need to make mention of even a glaringly obvious subject that intruded consistently on the situation. Her job, at least, would not be the more uncomfortable if her gamble did not pay off. Not on the surface, at least.

She adjusted the flame under the cauldron automatically, not really thinking about the task even as she backed it down to just the right height beneath the dully gleaming iron of the cauldron's bottom.

"Hermione!"

She spun around in startlement, her gaze coming to rest on Severus standing in the doorway through which he had left over three and a half hours ago. He was only slightly disheveled, and he carried the now-empty cauldron in one hand, his wand in the other. He stared at her for a long moment, his breathing not yet recovered from running up the long passage from the grounds, and she took a step toward him in concern.

And then he laughed. An honest laugh, light and sincere, and she'd never heard anything like it from him before. He dropped the cauldron onto the carpet with a metallic clang, kicking the door shut behind him with a practiced move, and started across the room as he unfastened his Death Eater robe. Hermione belatedly realized that the clanging sound the cauldron had made was the result of the Death Eater mask rattling in its bottom. Severus wrestled for a moment as the slick fabric surprisingly resisted removal; he gave a grunt of frustration and yanked, and it slithered free at last. 

"You're very much like your maker," he told it as he dropped it to the floor with a distasteful curl of his lip. He turned and met Hermione's gaze, and she was glad to see he did not have the pale, drawn look of repressed horror she had so often seen him wear as he returned from a meeting.

"Call Albus," he said, his tone uncharacteristically buoyant. "Have him meet us in the Potions lab off the classroom." And then he was gone in a swirl of robes, leaving the tunnel to the castle hallway open behind him.

She jogged back up the tunnel, now inky dark in the blackness of night, her wand held in front of her to provide light. When she got to the classroom, Severus was nowhere in sight, and she tossed a pinch of Floo powder into the fireplace and called Albus's name. 

It took the Headmaster a few minutes to appear, and he looked worried.

"Severus?" he questioned when he saw Hermione.

"I think he's fine, Albus. He seems... well, happy, or maybe just excited. He wants you to meet us down here in the Potions lab beside the classroom."

Albus studied her for a long moment. "I shall come through now, Miss Granger, if you don't mind," he said, and when she moved back in acceptance, he came through the fireplace, unbending his tall frame easily as he stepped into the room. He was in a robe and nightshirt, and his feet were slippered. She peeked at his feet, expecting pink bunnies, but his slippers were ordinary blue terrycloth. 

"You were expecting something else?" he asked with a twinkle, and she nodded with a blush.

"Most people, when seen in private, are not what they seem to the world at large," he said. "Don't you agree?" 

She met his gaze readily, acknowledging his wit with a small smile. Here was another Gryffindor who'd spent much time among Slytherins- or perhaps the division between Houses and their prized qualities was more severe now than once they had been. It was a question worthy of later consideration. "I do indeed," she replied archly. "It's easy to miss the finer things in life if you forget that." 

"You were never one to miss much, Miss Granger," said Albus fondly, and then the sound of footsteps drew both their eyes to the door.

"Albus," said the Potions master by way of greeting as he moved to his desk along the far wall. 

"Did everything go well?" asked the Headmaster, and Severus nodded impatiently. 

"Fine, fine. The potion did its job- rather too well for Voldemort's comfort, I think. I got the very strong impression that he found more unrest in his followers than he had expected; while the potion wouldn't let him discover its cause, it would reveal to him that it existed. Which may have been part of why he asked for the potion . I must not be the only one with questionable leanings, but I was the only one who had warning and was able to prepare for the meeting." He opened a desk drawer and rifled in it for a roll of fresh parchment, quills, and ink, his voice muffled somewhat by the rustling of the drawer's contents as he worked . 

"Lucius Malfoy had foreknowledge of the potion's use tonight, but he has consistently underestimated the power of potions in general. It is the one mistake I have seen him make- more than once, to his discredit and disadvantage- and yet he does not correct it. I do not think he prepared for this, and so even he was caught unawares." Severus turned and laid the writing supplies on a clean benchtop in the center of the lab before going on.

"I think there were two important consequences of tonight's meeting. First of all, Voldemort kept us for hours, questioning us individually and making everyone nervous. I think his followers will likely be uneasy for a few weeks, which gives us a little time. He damaged their trust by using this potion on them unannounced, which will shake their loyalty a bit. He will need to resolidify that loyalty before moving." He paused, as if considering, then spoke again, his tone diffident. 

"Second of all, due to a slight quirk in the potion's composition and the fact that I was the one who brewed it and brought it to the meeting, I got a look into Voldemort's mind when he was questioning me. And I don't think he realized it."

Albus gaped, his eyes open wide with shock. "Severus! What did you see?"

The younger wizard smiled slowly. "Everything."

It took nearly two hours to jot down everything Severus could remember, and another ten minutes after that to look it all over and realize that this could indeed mean the end of the war. The headmaster's hands trembled a little as he spread the roll of parchment out and looked at it for another long moment. In essence, it was a four foot essay on how to destroy the Dark Lord in any of a dozen ways. He gave a good impression of invulnerability, but he had more weaknesses than they could ever have expected.

Albus stood up and drew his wand, casting a concealment spell on the parchment before them. Reaching into his pocket with a murmured enlargement charm, he produced a scroll case of the sort one would expect to find in the British Museum's Egyptian collection. It had delicate- looking sides of some luminous white-gold material- alabaster, or something similar- and the finials on the rods for the scroll were gold with inlaid enamel detailing. It was beautiful. Albus carefully fed the parchment onto the rods and wound it up neatly, setting it inside the case with a soft click. When he turned it over, Hermione saw the little gold eye projecting from one end of the case- and when Albus Reduced the entire thing with a word, she understood what it was for. A fine gold chain passed through the eye, and it was this which Albus now held out to her.

"Hermione, perhaps we could trust you to wear this and keep it safe for us? I don't need to tell you how disastrous it would be for anyone to find it." 

She took the chain from him without hesitating, but didn't slip it over her head yet. "I don't suppose you thought to charm the paper to read like a love letter unless two of the three of us are here to decrypt it?" she asked casually, and he chuckled. 

"No." He flicked his wand to do as she suggested, and then shook his head as she settled the fine chain around her neck under her clothing. "You've picked up a few things in your time working with a Slytherin archetype," he observed mildly. "I wonder if he's learned anything from you." 

Albus moved to the fireplace again without giving her- or Severus- time to answer. "I shall be back for breakfast," he said. "I will go set the Order in motion." He paused, turning to look back at the Head of Slytherin. "The debt which the world already owes you is enormous, Severus Snape. What you have done tonight, I do not think it will ever be able to repay." 

The dark-haired wizard looked up from his desk, where he was replacing parchment and quill. His expression was solemn as he replied. 

"I've never had the impression that the universe much cared about payment, or balance," he said slowly. "Nor do I think we ever fully appreciate what is owed, and to whom."

"I can assure you, Severus, that there are many in this world who are fully cognizant of both of those things- at least where you are concerned." Albus frowned just a little.

"I know," Severus replied softly, and though his words were for Albus, his gaze rested on Hermione. 

When the smoke from the Headmaster's Floo trip had cleared, Hermione went to set the kettle on the fire to make tea. Severus turned toward his storeroom and vanished inside for a moment, the sound of softly clinking glass vials soothing in its normalcy. The whistle of steam called Severus back out of his storeroom, a small tin of cranberry-elderflower tea in hand. When the tea was ready, they went to sit in the small chairs by the chess set, sipping from their cups with sighs of relief. Tea: the universal solvent, in which all manner of ills are soluble- and solvable. 

"Well," said Hermione, conscious of the degree of understatement she was making. "What an eventful evening this has been." 

"Indeed," Severus replied dryly. "I doubt the coming week will be dull, either. Now that we know where the Dark Lord is hiding- and how he's protected- it won't take long for Albus to put together a strike team. I suspect the harder task will be to round up his followers, although from what I learned tonight, they won't be likely to follow in his footsteps. It was rather comforting to learn I'm not the only one nervous around him."

This, thought Hermione, was as close as a Slytherin would ever come to saying _Ask me how I did it!_ She smiled inwardly and said, "I meant to ask you about that. How exactly is it that you were able to read Voldemort's mind?" She paid no heed to his faint flinch as she said the name, even though he had said it himself a scant quarter of an hour before. "I thought we'd taken care of any possible risk in that department." 

Severus set down his teacup and smiled, and the expression was both amused and sly. "Funny you should mention that," he said, and drew the ingredient list from his pocket. He handed it to her for her perusal, as she'd not had the chance to see it when he and Albus had gone over it. 

"You already know that the addition of virgin's blood to this potion would have made a powerful telepathogenic. Clearly we eliminated _that_ particular danger-" his mouth curved in a satisfied smile- "and even before that, I was careful not to cut myself in the process of preparing the potion. It also happens that I already had most of the potion ingredients prepared in the storeroom anyway; I have checked those supplies with every charm I can think of, and there is no trace of blood in any of them. I did not accidentally contaminate any of them when I prepared them months ago, in all ignorance of their future use. And yet something odd must have occurred to give me the chance to read the Dark Lord's mind without giving him the same chance to read me." 

His dark eyes glittered, and Hermione saw that he knew perfectly well what had happened, and was just enjoying telling her the story. She leaned forward in interest.

Severus finished his last sip of tea before going on. "The Dark Lord is rather untrusting- as you have seen- and he bade me drink the potion first, before he would have any. He had me do this before anyone else added the blood, of course, because he wouldn't have wanted me to have the experience he intended solely for himself. So I produced ladle and glass and proceeded to take a sip of the base. Once he was satisfied, he drew a drop of blood from each of our left index fingers with a silver needle, added it to the potion, and then drank the potion from his own glass, dipping it out with his own ladle. He then destroyed the remainder of the potion to prevent anyone else from having the same chance to see what he was about to see. 

"But I still had a small amount of the potion in my glass. And when he used that silver needle on me, I noticed he had scratched the side of his hand when drawing it out of his pocket. He wouldn't have been worried about it, for no one was going to drink the potion but him, and when he had my hand by the wrist to prick my index finger, I was able to get a small amount of his blood on my middle finger. I decided to chance it, and managed to get the blood from my finger into the potion in my glass and take a sip when no one was looking."

Hermione was on the edge of her seat, fascinated by the quickness of Severus's mind to think of all of this while maintaining a calm facade. Her raised eyebrow encouraged him to go on.

"This," said Severus with a smug smile, "is where it all got decidedly strange. I had expected to have a vague impression of knowledge and how things stood, as the Eye of Sarudai's maker had originally intended. But suddenly I was seeing everything from two perspectives- one my own, the other Lord Voldemort's." Hermione noticed he said the Dark Lord's name without flinching this time. "And I could grasp his thoughts, as clearly as if they were my own. The potion was letting me read his mind fully and completely. I held back for a moment, afraid he'd feel me in his mind or know from the limited powers his version of the potion gave him that I was reading him, but he didn't seem to notice. When it looked as though he wasn't going to catch on at all, I started exploring, and found the things we've already discussed. 

"I looked into his mind as much as I dared- it's not a human mind any longer, and it's easy to get lost- and then I started looking at the other Death Eaters. Lucius Malfoy is a tough nut to crack, but he's got a lot of problems behind that perfect facade. Most of them have nothing to do with us or our fight, so I left them alone- but he's as afraid of Voldemort as I am. So is Rosier, and so are the Lestranges. The Dark Lord has taken things a bit further than I think they expected. That means they might be willing to ally with us, at least long enough to kill Voldemort." 

Severus poured himself a little more tea and took a sip; his throat was dry with talking. Hermione shook her head. "This is almost unbelievable," she said. "You're sure this isn't just a trap Voldemort placed before you?" 

"Quite certain," said Severus. "I could see everything he intended a moment before he did it, and saw him control several impulses which were definitely in need of restraint. From what I know of him, he would never be so calm if he found me prying into his thoughts; he'd have lost his temper immediately, and I'd likely be dead. Even if he had the notion to lay a trap for me, he would not have done it by making himself look vulnerable to attack; he'd have shown me images of power, done all he could to make himself look invincible. He would want to extinguish any thoughts I might have had of resisting him, of turning aside from his plans, and he would do it by making me think that his was going to be the winning side and there was no point in jumping ship. His ego cannot handle even the idea of vulnerability; he has not fully acknowledged his own weaknesses sufficiently to defend against them, and that will be to our advantage."

"Incredible," said Hermione softly. "That's quite an accomplishment, thinking all of that through on the spur of the moment. " 

He arched a brow at her. "I am a Slytherin," he reminded her.

"The archetypal Slytherin, according to Albus," she said dryly. "I suppose we shouldn't have expected less than a thorough and silent infiltration of the enemy's defenses, in the long run."

"I had it in mind," he admitted. "I just wasn't sure how I was going to work it all out. This little whim of the Dark Lord's just made it easier." 

"But it still doesn't explain the most pressing question of all," Hermione reminded him. "Even with Voldemort's blood in the potion, you should only have had vague impressions. Not full telepathic ability. How did that come about?"

Severus rose from his chair and took Hermione's teacup from her, setting it beside his on the end of the chessboard that was vacant. "Ah," he said. "And now we come to the crux of the matter." 

He knelt down before her and held his left hand in front of him, palm up. "Here is the needle prick Voldemort made." The small dot of dried blood marked the spot. "This finger-" his middle- " caught his blood in turn to put it in the potion. I daresay you recall what else this hand has done tonight." 

She blushed and looked away, but he would not let her.

"I'm left-handed, so I used this same hand to cast the cleansing charm before I departed at midnight. Which means, as you no doubt have already surmised, that this hand was not entirely clean, having been missed by the charm. 

"So when I used this hand to add Voldemort's blood to the potion, I was also adding your blood, Hermione. Wasn't I?" His voice was soft now, a bare murmur vibrating in the air between them, and she shivered. She knew what he was really asking, and she owed him the answer. She nodded once.

He smiled with something between tenderness and triumph, and nodded back. "So the potion I drank contained something more powerful than virgin's blood. It contained first blood, the innocence of the girl combined with the knowledge of the woman. And so you have given me not only my own salvation, but the entire world's." He laughed a little. 

"Ironically, even if you'd been there, I would not have been able to read your mind- for it was your blood that conferred the powers on the potion, and that would have rendered you immune. And so it is that I must ask you now, Hermione, what I will never know unless you tell me. Can you have been moved by anything other than the world's need last night?"

Hermione stared at him, the simple honesty of his question beyond what she would ever have expected from him. Reaching slowly out, she took his left hand in her right, and her courage in both. 

"It was not the world's need that moved me, Severus. It was your need." She swallowed. "And mine." 

The curve of his mouth softened just a little, and there was a warmth in his dark eyes that only someone who knew him as she did would notice. He tightened his fingers on hers in silent answer.

"You know," he murmured softly, "it's rather apropos, I think- you've been disturbingly subtle for a Gryffindor, and I've been shockingly blunt for a Slytherin. I suppose Albus would say we bring out the best in each other." 

She laughed then, seeing the irony of the compliment, and leaned over to kiss the back of his hand in hers. "I don't suppose he'll be surprised," she said, and Severus chuckled.

"I wouldn't expect so. Tonight is the first occasion on which I've ever genuinely surprised that man. I'll have to remember his expression and savor it, for I'm not likely to get a second showing." 

The faint rays of dawn were beginning to filter in through the lab's windows, and Severus turned to consider the day starting outside the castle.

"It's a new day," he commented. "There have been few dawns indeed which brought me such hope." 

"Yes," Hermione said contemplatively. "This could really be Voldemort's end."

He tilted his head, looked at her for the space of a heartbeat. 

"That's not what I meant," he murmured, and with gentle hands caught her face in his hands and held her still for his kiss.

Albus made his way slowly down the stairs to the dungeons, sighing with pleasure over the delightful quiche which had formed part of his breakfast. He had always adored the morning meal, and on many occasions had been known to have it three times a day. It was a shame Severus and Hermione had missed today's particular repast, as the House Elves had outdone themselves. And one of the quiches had been onion- something Albus felt certain Severus would have found to his liking. 

Arriving at his destination, he knocked politely on the lab door, pausing to listen for the sounds of industry- but all was silent. He pushed the door open on well-oiled hinges, and found an empty room.

The cauldrons over their flames were simmering gently, Noverboil charms placed with Hermione's typical neatness, the benchtop clean and ingredients stowed as they ought to be. The bookshelves and high workbench were also tidy, no stray volumes or notebooks left out. The only mess was around Severus's desk, which looked as though it had been the victim of a thorough mugging. Desk drawers hung open, papers were strewn beside it, and its blotter was crooked. 

"Hmm," Albus mused, and turned to look back at the door. "I suppose they've turned in. They were up half the night, after all." 

His chess set caught his attention. He supposed he might as well leave it for them; they did use it quite a bit, and heaven knew the work to remove the Dark Mark was still worth completing. Even if the Order's attack tonight was successful, he doubted Severus was the overly sentimental type who would want to keep such a reminder of his past. He sat down in the chair beside the chess set, absently flipping up the lid of the mahogany storage box. 

The pieces didn't need more of an opening than that, metaphorical or literal. They poured out of the box, chittering and clattering as they found their squares, and Albus chuckled at the sight. They'd never cared for idleness.

"And did you enjoy the match with Severus and Hermione last night?" he asked his pieces.

The resounding miniature cheer surprised him. "Really?" he asked. "That good?"

The black king gestured excitedly, and Albus raised both eyebrows. "Do tell," he said.

The black queen scowled at him, and he shushed her. "I'm no gossip. But I have a reputation for omniscience which needs regular upkeep." He turned to the black king again. "You were saying?"

Dragging his queen by the hand, the black king made his way to the center of the board. Bowing to the white queen and king across from him, he then turned and proceeded to re-enact the entire evening's events, haranguing the black queen into playing Hermione's role. She warmed to the pantomime after a few moments, and the heated kiss at the end of the evening's discussion produced decidedly pink tinges on the faces of the white pawns in the front row of the little 'audience'. If the black pawns blushed, no one could tell.

"I never knew he was such a romantic!" exclaimed Albus with delight. The black king gestured wildly, as if to remind him that the story went on. He then borrowed a bishop to play the role of Albus, and they quickly covered the morning's discussion. Albus's leaving was communicated with a quick shove to the bishop's backside, which sent him sliding back to his usual square, mitre askew.

"What happened after I left?" Albus dutifully prompted, and the black king's response was his complete undoing. 

The little chess piece pantomimed a discussion with his queen, ending with a tender kiss- 

-at which point the black queen, having fully embraced her role, launched herself at the king and kissed him long and lustily, knocking him to the floor. Regaining their feet- albeit with difficulty- they stumbled their way across the board, knocking pawns over (several of them flung themselves about or leapt in the air and fell with great gusto, doing their best to imitate falling furniture) and causing mayhem as they moved through each square, until they reached the mahogany box lid. The black queen hastily made as if to shove everything off the lid, and then her mate lifted her up onto it, their combined actions conveying the fullest possible degree of frantic desire. They were so enthusiastic in their portrayal that they actually fell off the other side of the box lid, and reappeared with sheepish smiles a moment later to mimic the waving of wands to repair the room and the hasty departure of the protagonists to points more private.

"You don't say," Albus said, wiping tears from his face with his beard and holding his sides. "Oh, Circe's girdle, I don't think I'll be able to look either of them in the eye for days without laughing. No wonder the room is too neat." He laughed again. "Well, good for them. I don't suppose they'll reappear for lunch- I'll just have the house elves bring something up to them with my compliments." His eyes twinkled. "Oysters, perhaps." 

He left the chesspieces as they stood, bowing to them in thanks for the performance and retrieving one stray pawn whose fall had carried it over the edge of the table. "Well done, my friends. Thank you again for your intelligence, and for your entertainment." He paused. "And if they reappear later... do let me know how it goes, hmm?"

Albus vanished up the stairs, muttering to himself. "I can hardly wait to tell Dippet- he never gave Severus enough credit! Perhaps I oughtn't to say anything to him, though- he can never keep a secret. Every painting at Hogwarts would know the whole story by nightfall...." 

But if there were rumors in the hallways, and if the portraits in the castle had much to whisper in the next few days, Hermione and Severus were scarcely aware of it. For the underwater bedroom was warmed by a Flooproof brazier... and its walls were bare of portraits. 

Fin

A/N: Ah- just the right size for a snack.... I do hope you enjoyed this short piece! I could have made this chapter a bit more lemony, but the little black king just stole his moment and I hadn't the heart to take it from him. He amused me too much, even if he does steal scenes. Please let me know what you think of the piece, now that it's done! It so encourages me to write more. :-P 

Speaking of writing more, here's a shameless plug for a story I'm starting: it's tentatively titled The Kindest Curse, although that's liable to change, and its first two or three chapters are going to be posted on AFF.net and FF.net at the same time this last chapter of LMC is posted. I'm branching out a little bit; this is a story inspired by (but almost entirely unrelated to) the Marriage Law challenge on WIKTT. I know, I know, that makes no sense. It will eventually. It stars Hermione (how can I leave her out?) as a curse-breaker hired by an unlikely client for an even more unlikely job. 

This new one will probably be a good-length story, and Lucius Malfoy has a major role in it. (Jason Isaacs would be happy- after all, he jokingly suggested that Book 5 could be all about Lucius. Well, Mr. Isaacs, here's to the fascinating Lucius Malfoy and his worthiness of a greater share of the plotline.) Severus, however, has asked for a vacation. He tells me I've worn him out- I think his exact words were "worse slave driver than Dumbledore and Voldemort combined, and the Granger girl is going to be the death of me if I can't find a way to stay dressed in her presence for five minutes", or something like that. But he will be back- he's already threatened to hex me if I permanently reassign any roles opposite his favorite leading lady. And I think he may have been bluffing about 'finding a way to stay dressed'- he gave Hermione the address of his hotel and a few safe Apparation spots before he left. And he has agreed to a cameo if I request it. 

I think he's going to miss us while he's away.

Anyway, I'd really love feedback and support as I venture out into a new arena with a new character, especially if you enjoy my writing and wouldn't mind letting me know how I do. I'm having a ball writing the first few chapters, and the work has gotten the muse awake and asking for food. That's usually a good sign- although it could just be the effects of being on a diet...everything asks for food... even my hair wants food, and I can't figure that one out. ;-P

Cheers!

Email questions or comments to quillusion@yahoo.com


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